Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

Sunday started with the sun blazing through my tent and with me lying in a pool of sweat and also a pool of something else but I thought it best not to examine that so closely. Easing my creaking bones out of the cess pit I was in I was greeted by a mate who had indulged in a night of Class A intake. he had not slept all night and it appeared he wouldn't for another week. Looking like I imagined Jacko was looking at that moment in time he rambled on incoherently, although I did catch that he spoke to a guy all night who spoke to him in chicken noises. Unable to move much myself I had to get my shit together first before heading off to see some bands. Eventualy getting up the strength I went up to the Park Stage with a mate to see Alberta Cross. Five of our other group went off to see Status Quo and Tony Christie. Why these are my friends I will never know. We left our drugged up mate to his own devices and probably to soil himself.
Managed to catch a band called Chief before Alberta Cross, who played a combination of rock/folk rock. They hailed from california and took great delight in telling us numerous times that they did. But they were good. Next up was Alberta Cross who delivered in fine style, clearly influenced by Neil Young. Went off after them to catch up with my mates at the Pyramid Stage and to catch some of Amadou & Mariam's set, and a most pleasant experience it was as well.
After nearly 5 days of abusing a body that was already out of shape and out of condition I was pretty fucked by this time and the thought of dragging my dilapidated frame to other stages was beyond me. So I took root for a bit, I was looking forward to seeing Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds anyway on the Pyramid Stage. Before them though I had to put up with Tom Jones. It wasn't good. Don't get me wrong I like Tom Jones and have many of his L.P.'s on vinyl. (for you youngsters that is a 12" black thing that can be played on both sides with the aid of a record player). But these are records from the 60's when Tom Jones was a whole lot better than he is now 40 years later. It felt like I was in a giant open air Workingman's Club. When he briefly stopped I expected the bingo to start.
Madness followed Tom Jones. With Madness you get what it says on the can, nothing more, nothing less. They were okay, taking me back in years to a time when i didn't mind gigs finishing after the last bus home had gone.
Nick Cave was great, his mere presence seemed to scare the young nubile girls who had come to see him. Finding myself recharged after Nick Cave and with a little help from my friend 'Billy' I headed off to catch a bit of the Aliens and then some of Roger McGuin.
Which headline act though to see to close the festival with? Blur? Prodigy? Black Eyed Peas? Echo & The Bunnymen? Well none of these actually, I chose to see Georgie Fame & The Blue Flames. Even though Fame must now be pushing 145 years old he played a stonking jazz orientated set.
On the way back to my tent I caught a bit of Robyn Hitchcock, which was appalling. By now my body was screaming for mercy, so like a 90 year old paraplegic I dragged myself back to the campsite where I sat in a chair consuming the last of the alcohol and hurling abuse to the young who walked by.

To be continued...